Death's Door
by Sincerely- AnonymousP
Summary: Harry knew Death intimately, had known it his whole life almost like a friend. From the death of his parents, to his less-than-stellar relatives, he had never known anything else. All he knew was that maybe it was his fault- his freakishness that caused it. But then something happens, and now it might not be his fault after all. Harry leaves, but what if Death decides to follow?
1. A Fire for my Family

**Death's Door**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I would be raising hell in the Carribean right now and would have built my own personal Hogwarts in the backyard of my mansion, _wait_ the castle would _be _my mansion, in Britian, complete with a Forbidden Forest and all. If you ever hear of such a thing, you'll know who just bought the rights to the franchise.

**Summary**: Harry knew Death intimately, had known it his whole life almost like a friend. From the death of his unknown parents, to his less-than-stellar relatives, he had never known anything else. All he knew was that maybe it was his fault- his freakishness that caused it. But then something happens, and now it might not be his fault after all. Harry leaves, but what if Death decides to follow?

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**Chapter One: A Fire for my Family**

The soft patter of rain drummed against a window in a steady low tune, constant as the flickering lights illuminating every drop of water in a bewitching array of shifting and reflecting colors. Outside, the night was pitch black, a howling wind accompanying the dark storm clouds that blotted out the moon.

One small finger was pressed firmly against the cool glass, barely reaching halfway up, but sticking as if it was glued there with such pressure that the end of the appendage was nearly white.

As one raindrop began to slide down the pane, the finger followed it, tracing its path down and leaving a streak mark in its wake. Similar streaks covered every inch of the window that could be reached; each ended at the bottom of the pane, or in some cases near the corner and side of the glass as far down as the finger could touch in the small space between the window and chair that was positioned in front of it. Some streaks were nearly faded entirely, while others still held lingering heat in them.

Suddenly a flash of lightning flared in the sky, filling the window in bright, blinding light, and the hand startled away with a small, fearful gasp. Thunderclaps roared not a second later and a child of no older than five tumbled from the chair. Large, calloused hands caught the boy, griping him under the armpits before he hit the ground.

"Are you okay, kid?" The voice was low and gruff, but thick with worry and impatience, not entirely the fault of the young boy's near fall.

Bright green eyes blinked widely out of a pale sunken face, colored with ivory skin flushed from fading fright. A small hand reached to grip the hem of the baggy shirt tightly, before he nodded slowly.

Matthew Pryce sighed heavily, bringing up his small, temporary charge to rest in his lap, away from the tottering chair. When the boy didn't as much as wriggle in annoyance, as most five-year olds would if his daughter was anything to go by, Matthew settled back down, slouching in his chair once more and bringing one hand up wearily to cover his face.

It was four in the morning, two-thirty, when he received the call. Working in the foster care system, he was used to the occasional impromptu call in the middle of the night to hear about the usual runaway that escaped their new foster family, or to grab a kid from an abusive home. It was, he thought, disgustingly common how often the former happened, but he was used to it. Not every kid got a warm, welcoming family and he couldn't take in every stray he was called in to rescue and he definitely couldn't beat the living daylights out of the undeserving 'families' of the forgotten souls.

But each time he felt like quitting, each time it felt like they were fighting an uphill battle, pushing up a boulder only for it to be shoved back down, he would take a look at the hope in the kid on his next case, or pull a picture of his little Cosie out of his wallet, all dimples and curls, and his passion would fire up once more. What he was doing _had _to be worth it.

But this…this was one of the times that even on the best of days had him drawn to a small shady bar and a glass of liquor on the counter, and this wasn't even the best of days. Matthew considered himself a strong man, but this had him so weary, so completely _exhausted_ emotionally and physically that he doubted whether or not he'd be able to stand the next day, much less look at himself in the mirror.

The call was for a boy named Harry Potter. He lived at Number Four Private Dr. in Surrey, a small suburban home that had been identical to the dozens of other houses surrounding it. Harry was five years old, scrawny with messy raven hair that starkly contrasted his bright green eyes. And now, he might have to add orphan to the list- _again_.

The boy in question shifted slightly, finally showing some normal signs of discomfort in his baggy borrowed shirt that, despite being surrounded with the smell of medicine, still stank of smoke. His green eyes flitted up to meet Matthew's gaze before sliding away just as quickly, buried curiosity burning behind the polite obedience. Matthew was mildly surprised, if not a little perturbed, that the child hadn't asked any questions at all and, putting the initial shock and confusion aside, hadn't shown any signs of stress from what had just happened only hours ago. It was odd, he had thought, but then again he doubted whether or not Harry even knew what had happened.

"Mr. Pryce?" His head jerked up at the soft call. A nurse stood just down the hall, still standing in the doorway beneath a glowing sign reading '_ER_'. Her eyes flicked to a much younger face, "Temporary guardian of Mr. Potter?" Matthew didn't move, instead keeping a wide-eyed gaze fixed on her, a silent question.

The nurse's, _Martha _he noted, shoulders slumped, a heavy burden dragging them further down as she cast a sorrowful look towards Harry. Matthew swallowed hard. _She didn't make it. _The words rang out across the hallway, despite them never having made it past her lips, almost as loud as the clacking heels stuttering towards him now.

"I'm sorry," the woman says quietly. "She coded on the table, there was too much smoke inhalation." He ignores her in favor of watching the small boy- _orphan_- now sliding off of his lap onto the ground. His face is drawn in slightly, confused, but he still doesn't speak.

"There's some paperwork you'll need to sign," Martha continues. He nods and stands, throwing a caustic _what_ at the unfiltered curiosity brimming in the nurse's eyes. They drop, maybe ashamed he hopefully thinks, but she asks anyway, "I- well, if you don't mind me asking, what happened?" A furtive glance at the soot on Harry's face, the boy had drifted once again to the window flashing with lightening, and he knows she already has an idea.

"House fire," he grunts, "Not sure what started it yet. The husband and son were together upstairs, couldn't get out. They got Mrs. Dursley out from the bottom of the stairs." He'd never liked people who pried. It was rude.

Another glance, "And Harry?"

This time, Matthew looks too. Harry is sitting once again on the hospital chair, pressed against the window and watching, enraptured, as the sky lights up, painting shadows in the clouds and illuminating the grounds below. He's certainly disheveled, the baggy shirt they received from the neighbor next door to Number Four had caught the brief scent of smoke and the smell had festered in the fabric since. Soot still stuck to the pale skin resolutely, refusing to come off even when Matthew had scrubbed it down red with a rag. Harry certainly looked like he had been through a fire.

"Was outside when we got there, trying to get in the house actually."

Matthew could practically _feel_ the woman melting next to him in maternal sympathy. "Oh, the poor dear. He was probably trying to get to his parents."

He thought it best not to mention that none of the now deceased family had the name 'Snuffles', "Aunt and Uncle actually."

Silence blanketed the hallway once more. After a moment, the nurse left. After another, Matthew Pryce crouched low towards Harry, drawing him closer with quiet whispers. One more and the child fell into the man willingly, sobbing against his shirt.

In soothing murmurs, Matthew drew the boy up with him, cradling him against his chest and with well practiced ease cards his fingers through the wild raven hair. It was time to leave. He had work to do- _yet another kid to throw at yet another family-_ and a sweet daughter to go home too.

As they left the building, wind and rain from the storm smattering against them, Harry's hand reached over his shoulder and shook in a small wave at someone. Matthew glanced behind him and then, when he found nothing, up at the window he knew the streaks of childish fingers were; nothing. He shrugged it off. _Probably just the nurse _he thought fleetingly_, _turning away.

Harry glanced upwards from behind the car window once more, eyeing a window on the third floor curiously. The car jolted to life, rocking him forward slightly as he leant out of his seat. Shyly, Harry waves again.

A tall figure, garbed in a flowing black cloak, stared hauntingly back, illuminated against the light.

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**A/N**: I feel so darn freaking aweful for starting yet another story! ARGH! _Stupid muse_!...so yeah, I'm having major writers block with almost every other piece of crappy work that has slipped through my supid head! Can you tell I'm frustrated? This is pretty much the only thing that has been sticking with me lately so I had to run with it. And honestly I wasn't even going to post it until I had like at least five chapters done. I have one...the one you just read...greeaattt, right?

So this is me wondering what would happen if the Avada Kedavra curse did just a _teensie_ bit more than just give Harry a cool looking scar. And this would fit in great with the Deathly Hallows later. I promise I'll try working on my other stories (for they are numerous and forgotten) but its reeeaally difficult when I'm not getting much reviews.

So please review and tell me whether this 'Death' idea has any merit. I have yet to see a story like this, so I'm running with it. Please give me some critisism(see my grammer is horrible!) and let me know if you maybe wanta beta the crap out of this thing.


	2. A Penny for my Thoughts?

**Death's Door**

**NOTICE: **Please make sure to read the A/N at the bottom, thanks!

**Disclaimer: **So, how bout that Harry Potter series?Still don't own it, still don't have my Hogwarts Mansion, still don't own a Hippogriff. The woes of life...

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**Chapter Two: A Penny for my Thoughts?**

It was bright, almost blindingly so, the sun streaming down and washing over the garden grounds, highlighting them with a warm summer glow bursting vibrant with life. Birds, bluebirds, chirped and whistled, flitting through the trees. It was the Hallmark picture of peace. It was ironic, really.

A small, steady breeze ruffled the deep lavender petals, like a bird readying for flight. One did take off, twirling and drifting away from atop the shiny- _mahogany_- wood to lie on the grass at Pastor Greg's feet.

"And here, may he rest in peace," the deep baritone voice was annoyingly solemn- and _fake_- as the look on the aged Pastor's face. The man closes an equally old dog-eared bible and gestures to the casket behind him. "It is now your time to pay your last respects to Daniel Calloway. Family first, please."

Harry Potter, for the singular reason of annoying Mrs. Jansen –_Belle, darling, please, call me Belle- _slouched down further in his seat, a bloody uncomfortable one at that, and ignored the woman's searing glare when she stood alongside her husband to pay respects to her, now deceased, brother. The fact that he's not budging an inch, when sitting in the seat any longer will most definitely give him _some _sort of back disorder later in life, Harry thought should've been proof enough that he did-not-want-_to_-_be-here!_

She sniffs at him and moves on while John, her husband and someone Harry had absolutely no problem calling by his first name, shoots him a disapproving frown before moving to stand beside his wife. Harry watches them shuffle forward to the open casket and a brief twinge of remorse colors him when Mrs. Jansen barely restrains a wrenching sob, clutching John's hand so tightly Harry can see the blood draining from the fingers. John, in return, only clutches his wife's hands more firmly, face set in stone.

Harry allows, if only for a moment, a horrible guilt that has nothing to do with his disregard for the Jansens' loss to fill him, the aching pain of seeing yet _another _funeral, even one of someone he barely knew, to ring in his heart. No matter how many times this happens, how many times he opens himself to another death, the emotions are never diluted, never muted down. If anything they are worse, completely consuming and drowning him if he's not careful. So with practiced ease, he bundles the raw pain together in his box, locks the chest, and throws the key away. Again.

"You know it's not your fault, Harry," a deep voice says accompanied by a heavy sigh and a heavier hand falling on his shoulder.

Startled, Harry nearly falls out of his seat. "Matthew!" He twists his body to face the older man, smiling at him, though it's somewhat strained. "I didn't know you were coming."

Matthew Pryce had aged well in the five-almost six-years Harry had known him, aided by smiling blue eyes with crinkles at the edges, hinting to a generous sense of humor, and a youthful face. Strong and broad shoulders sat on a stocky build of six foot even, topped by neatly combed salt-n-pepper hair. Matthew constantly said it hadn't been his looks that got him his late wife. Harry agreed. But Harry also said that his looks _had_ been what got him that soccer mom's phone number.

Pryce chuckled, but humorlessly. "Of course I was going to be here. I'm your-"

"Child Services manager?"

"-friend," he chided gently, reflexively reaching a hand out to Harry's own disastrous mop of raven hair, trying to smooth it down.

Usually, annoyance at the childish action would flare up and Harry would immediately swat the hand away, scowling. But now- now he kept his mouth shut, recognizing the gesture for what it was; a soothing repetitive sign that had been constant throughout his childhood. And, though he hated to admit it, Harry _did _find it comforting, especially now. It made him feel- not alone, that he had someone. If only for a little while, anyway.

It was something that Matt did often enough when he had been younger and came around to check up on him, to see if he was settling into the latest foster home. From that, though, came a simple and innocent observation from the eyes of a child. Harry had realized the gesture was more pronounced when it came with new names and another address; it became a signal. This time it was no different.

Now the comfort was tainted; twisted and bittersweet.

He observed the Jansen's with an air of indifference. "Where am I going this time?" John had turned to glance at him. Mrs. Jansen didn't so much as blink.

Matt grabbed John's empty seat, twisting Harry's own chair to face him as he did. "Harry, nothing is final yet you know. You might not be moving," he ignores Harry's snort, "And you didn't answer me. You know this isn't your fault, right?"

"How do you know that? It's the same as the rest of them," the reply is sharp, almost biting if Harry hadn't remembered just who he was talking too. Sometimes he forgot Matt did mean the best for him; it was easy to see past after all, when he was constantly shoved into families that obviously _weren't _what was best.

"Because, Harry, you're a wonderful child and just being around you doesn't make people drop like flies. There is no possible way that any of this is your fault. It was an accident, accidents happen- it's _normal_."

Harry scowls, throwing an accusing finger to the casket and hisses through clenched teeth, "An accident that happens nine times in a row- with the same signs? And I'm pretty sure_ normal _doesn't include a kid like me." He lets his face smooth out, but the anger is still simmering beneath the surface.

Matt seemed thrown off for a moment, before his eyes rapidly swiveled around, eventually setting on the coffin just feet away. He looked perturbed. "So you saw… _him_?" he asked hesitantly.

Harry knew the older man didn't really want an answer to that question, so he ignored it. It'd happened before. "So you agree?"

"Wha- no, _no _Harry!"

Harry continued to press further, a bitter superior smile touching his mouth, "So you think it's normal I 'see dead people'?" He twisted the words with flawless expertise, just waiting for a reaction, _hoping_ for one.

Torn, gritting his teeth in frustration, and obviously without an answer, Matt skimmed a hand against Harry's jaw, grabbing it lightly and tilting it upwards to look him in the eye. They were blazing with frustration and something that looked far too much like guilt, and Harry cringed, an uncomfortable knot clenching in his stomach. He hadn't meant for Matt to feel _guilty _about it, it wasn't the man's fault after all. He was just a freak.

"Harry, can you please just listen to me? I think that you are special and unique and none of that makes this, or any of it, your fault. Understand?"

Harry grumbled something unintelligible, but turned away from Matt just as Mrs. Jansen and John returned; both of their hazel eyes were puffy and red, tear tracks running dry down Mrs. Jansen's cheeks. Matt stands up- giving Harry _the look _to do the same- and reaches out to take John's hand in a firm grip, brows creased with pity, "I'm very sorry for you and your wife's loss, Mr. Jansen." It's a well practiced line used often enough around him, Harry knows.

Mrs. Jansen nodded mutely, glancing once around and squeezing her husband's arm briefly, before turning and leaving again. Harry didn't miss the telling glance in his direction as she left. It was a dismissive one.

"Yes, well, we were rather close to him. It's still hard to believe that we had seen him just an hour before but- well I guess car accidents are unfortunately common."John's gaze flickered to Harry for a moment, hesitant and –surprise, surprise- _guilty_, "If you don't mind, Harry, I would like to speak to Mr. Pryce alone for a moment."

Harry's shoulders did not drop, he did not feel a sputter of hope die out- _because there had been none to begin with-_ as he turned and left the graveyard with one knowing look to Matt. _I told you._ Matt doesn't say anything either, merely tossing him a wave, a grimace of a smile, and the keys to his car.

Another day, another death, and now apparently another new 'home', as close as Harry could really ever get to a home. This had been his tenth (or was it the eleventh?) family he had been shoved off to. Nine of those failed familial relationships had ended with the tragic death of a loved one, be it brother uncle or even on occasion a spouse, shortly after having come into contact with him; or rather, with his 'friend'.

Daniel Calloway was no different. Just over a week ago, Mrs. Jansen nee Calloway's brother had been in town to visit his sister and determined to spoil his new 'nephew'. The man was a bright, cheery sort and Harry had taken a liking to him instantly, a familiarity of bantering passing between them.

The man lacked any signs of his sister's dour personality and compulsively clean habits. He had stayed for hours, regaling Harry with tales of his old army days, though John assured him none of them were actually true seeing as how Daniel had only been in the reserves, but Harry had been delighted nonetheless. When it came time to leave, Harry had taken once last glance at the man with a bright smile, before it slipped off his face faster than it had come, and knew he'd never see Daniel again. Not alive, at least.

An hour later they received a call from the police. Daniel had been in an automobile accident with semi-truck just outside their suburban neighborhood. He was confirmed dead on arrival.

-DD-

Harry started awake, sleepily glaring at Matt and the offending hand still resting its knuckles on the opposite side of the window where his head was resting. When had he even fallen asleep?

"Tired, kid?"

"Only of waiting for you, slow poke," he prods back, yawning widely. "What were you doing anyway, showing off your million and one pictures of Cosie again?"

"I was only talking for about fifteen minutes; it would take at_ least_ an hour to fully show off my little girl's beauty," he chuckles, flipping open his wallet where a picture of the blond cheery girl was smiling brightly up at them from the leather as further proof.

"So where am I shoved off next to," he asks bluntly. Usually he felt more…smug about his predictions being spot on, but he didn't feel it at the moment. Must've been the tired ache still resting behind his eyes.

"Harry…" Matthew doesn't bother denying it this time, a heaviness settling in the car, "you're staying at my house for a while, at least until we can contact the Millers." Harry nods, torn between being completely _not _surprised and just bored.

"So you already had another family down? That's new; usually even you're more optimistic than that. Is my track record really getting that bad?"

"_Harry_…"

"Is the wife at least any better than 'call-me-Belle' Jansen this time?"

"Harry!" Matt finally thundered, "That. Is. _Enough_!" He took several deep breaths to reign in his temper, his frustration, as Harry sat quietly beside him, wondering whether or not he should have taken it that far. _Well obviously not you idiot._ Matthew had a small temper, and prying it out was about as easy as twisting a nail out of a board with your bare hands.

"I know this is hard for you and stop trying to play it off! For God's sake you're only _ten- _I hate seeing you carted off like this every time when I know you deserve better. You know I wish I could but…"

Harry cringed. He had known better than to ask, but Matt had seen it on his face anyway, the question 'why can't you' going unspoken. That phrase had been a constant question when he was younger, almost as much as 'are we there yet'.

The man had done enough for Harry already, keeping track of him throughout the years and looking for only the best families to take him in.

Matthew always told Harry he had developed a bond with him the night he took the runt of a five year old away from the hospital, as corny as Harry thought it sounded, and he had grown to love him even more since, made sure to _always_ reassure him of that fact. Matt loved him.

But on his meager salary and with a daughter to already look after, there was no way he could take in another kid even if he wanted to, which he assured Harry he did.

Harry knew this and loved the man he viewed as a father for being the only constant thing in his life, but that did nothing to lessen the sting of betrayal he felt every time that same man proved once again he was not, in fact, his father, leaving him on the doorsteps of yet another family of strangers, empty faces.

It was unfair to the person who had gone so far out of his way for him and Harry hated that he felt justified in feeling betrayed every time it happened.

"I know," he replied, much more meaningful. "I'm just tired I guess." He offered a weak smile.

Matt didn't look reassured, if anything he seemed more morose. But they both hated fighting and Matthew obviously wasn't keen on having it out on Harry's problems right next to a _funeral home_ of all places. "We should get home then. I'm sure Cosie will be excited to see you again."

Harry hummed in response, resting his cheek against the warm window as the car started stuttered to life, a sickly cough belching out the rear end. He just stared out the window at the wonderful gardens and vivid flowers.

The Memorial Springs funeral home really was beautiful, one of the nicest he'd ever been too with plants of all sorts blooming under the sun's warm and patient coaxing. In the summer, it was only made even more breathtaking, everything seeming to vibrate with life, as if to offset reality, to say _no, not everything here is dead. _

It might've even been soothing for once- not having to be constantly reminded by the surroundings during the funeral that they were sitting above _dead people_, if not for one fact.

It didn't matter what surrounded Harry, not how beautiful or alive the plants or air were. It wouldn't have mattered even if there had been rainbow unicorns prancing through a field of daisies with little sparkling pixies riding on their shoulders.

Nothing made the reality of the situation any better- how could it when he had been staring at Death the entire time? Standing right above the casket of Daniel Calloway, the looming black figure looked the exact same way it always did, like death- a constant reminder.

_You brought me here. You did this._

Harry couldn't find it in himself to disagree.

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**A/N**: So, I actually got another chapter finished in time I'm suprised. Now onto what I wanted to adress...the title. I was debating between two titles the current one Death's Door, and the other being Life's Lesson. Tell me which one you think I should use, cause I honestly don't know, or even reply with a suggestion for a name if you think of one! I'd be happy to hear it and if its better than my current options (which frankly are not really that original) then I'd be delighted to use it.

Please let me know if you like the story so far, I''d love to hear comments from you guys, and I'm still waiting on a beta. I found tons of mistakes in the first chapter and replaced it with a fixed version. Thanks soo much for reading you guys! And thank you for all the lovely reviews! (I especially enjoyed the one asking whether or not I'd thought of getting a beta, honestly do people ever actually READ these notes!?)


	3. A Death for my Conscious

**Disclaimer: **Whelp, i actually don't really want to own Harry Potter, other than for the money of course. Could you imagine how much of it I could, and probably would, screw up!? I'm fine with just dabbling in the universe once in a while.

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**Chapter Three: A Death for my Conscious**

"Harry!"

A second within opening the door to the small apartment in the heart of London, Harry was met with a face full of bouncing blond curls and an armful of Cosie Pryce.

"I didn't know you were coming over today!"

Cosette 'Cosie' Pryce was just barely under a year older than Harry, and almost his complete opposite in every way- not just in physical appearances either. Yes, Cosie was blonde, tan, blue-eyed and probably the closest thing to an angel Harry figured anyone would ever see while Harry was pale, dark haired with emerald green eyes, but her sunny disposition countered Harry's solemn one just as much

She was also chatty. It was about the only quality Harry couldn't stand in the girl.

Matt smiled at his daughter, snatching her in for a quick hug and laughing at her squeal of protest. "Come on, Cosie, at least let the boy _breath_ before you decide to smother him to death. Go on in Harry, you know where the guest room is. I'll grab the rest of your bags."

He shuffled awkwardly, "It's okay, really. There's only one of them left, I can just grab it later."

Matt ignored him, rolling his eyes and heading back down the steps from the third floor balcony while Harry was quickly tugged inside by Cosie.

She babbled on, "Come _on _Harry! You haven't been here in _ages! _Look- we even painted the kitchen last month-"

He nodded absently, noting the light blue wall standing almost awkwardly against the living room's own deep brown.

The apartment was small, even on an average scale of London apartments. It only had two rooms, a single bathroom, and a combined kitchenette dining room area that was split off from the living room by a small bar counter with three small stools shoved up against it.

The Pryce home was…cozy, not for a lack of a better word, but instead because there was no other word Harry would use to describe the feeling of just- _home _that permeated the place, wrapping around it like a warm blanket. It was almost intoxicating for Harry to come here, so different from the cold and distant homes that he was used to bouncing around in. It wasn't messy, but there were still odds and ends scattered around the counters and tabletops, family knick-knacks with funny stories dotting the shelves.

Matt, for whatever reason, seemed to think that the more well off the family, the easier it would be for Harry to settle in. While he appreciated the effort the older man must have put into finding those 'rich' families, Harry despised those particular houses with a passion. After moving around so much, he got used to being able to tell a couple by their house. The museum ones tended to be the worst.

And try as hard as he might to ignore it, every time Harry opened the door to the small guest room in the Pryce Apartment, he felt as if he were coming home.

Cosie was still speaking, "You're room is pretty much the same as it was last time- even though we had one kid that stayed and tried to spray paint it this ugly orange color," her nose scrunched up distastefully, "Honestly it was horrid. At least _you _have a sense of fashion. Now all you need to work on is not being a slob and you'll be golden-"

"Cosie," Harry paused in front of the guest bedroom door, trying to hide a grimace from the girl. He wasn't very good at it. "I really appreciate the update and all, but I'm kind of tired. I'd like to just rest for a bit if you don't mind."

Cosie's mouth snapped shut so quickly, Harry wondered if he'd said that a tad more rudely than he thought; he wasn't the best of judges on what technically counted as 'rude'.

But the girl merely smiled softly, offering him a little pat on the shoulder. "Alright then, I'll just see if dad needs me for anything." And she bounced away, curls bobbing. Harry stared after her odd behavior for a moment, before shaking his thoughts away and facing the door to one of the two bedrooms in the apartment.

Both Matthew and his daughter shared the master bedroom, leaving only other room empty at all times. Leaving the guest room empty was a necessity for Matt's job, and Cosie never complained. Sometimes, a new child case would come up and the kid would have nowhere else to go for a few days so Matt had to make sure there was always room at his own home. It was a sacrifice neither one of the Pryce's ever felt was hard- the family was the picture of saints.

So while it wasn't truly his room, Harry was the most frequent occupant and it showed. Opening the door wide, the walls were still littered with small holes and bits of left-over tacky that refused to come off when a picture or poster of Harry's after an extended stay was taken down. The room itself was still painted the warm forest green he had chosen at six and Harry was sure that if he opened the wardrobe tucked against the back corner, he'd still find his knight figurines safely hidden in the bottom drawer.

Harry set his suitcase on the bed and scuttled around the room, opening the single window to let some air in and to shift the furniture around some.

"You settled in, kid?" asked Matt from the doorway. The second of Harry's two suitcases was resting by his feet and Harry quickly snatched it, tossing it onto the bed by his other one. The mattress made a horrible screech at the extra weight, the lumps in the bed seeming to scoot out of the way like cockroaches, determined not to be squashed. It was a gross, but accurate, comparison. The mattress was older than he was.

Harry looked around at the sparse room and shrugged, flopping down and completely squashing the cockroach lumps. "As much as I'll ever be."

"Good then," Matt shifted awkwardly in the door. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you in the kitchen about the Millers. I've already got their information and I figured you might want a sneak peak."

Harry groaned. "Not now Matt, I _just _got here!"

"Yes, well, with school starting up again in a month you'll need to move in with the Millers as soon as possible so they can enroll you." Matt replied tiredly.

Cosie's head suddenly popped into view from the door. "Dad, you can't kick Harry out already. He _just_ got here!" She said, incredulous.

Matt threw his hands into the air irritably, "My god, it's not like I'm not kicking him-you- out onto the streets to live life to the fullest as a hobo! It's just another family transfer."

"Yeah but why does he have to go so soon?" Cosie pouted, "Can't he just start school off with me? We've done it before."

It had been the Peterson disaster of '87. It was the first, and only time so far, that one of Harry's foster-care parents had died. Mr. Peterson had been on his way home from work in his office when he was hit by a car- a car that had been in the process of running off with thousands of pounds from a nearby bank robbery a few streets away. There had been million-to-one chances of that actually happening to a quiet family like the Petersons and Matt constantly preached that it was one of those freak accidents- they just happen. Harry firmly believed Mr. Peterson would still be alive had he not stepped foot into their front door.

Afterwards Mrs. Peterson became inconsolable from the loss and Harry found himself once again being moved. The problem, though, was that the murder had happened a week before school was supposed to start. With no other alternate family ready and the widowed Mrs. Peterson unwilling to take him in, Matt had taken Harry for a few weeks and signed him up to attend the same school as Cosie. It had been the most enjoyable time he'd ever spent in that god-forsaken public prison.

Matt shook his head. "That was different Cosie. He only had a week before school started with no alternate family. Now we not only have a few _weeks _before school starts, but also a family ready and available whenever we need them."

The oddity of another family suddenly appearing popped back into Harry's head at the comment and he squinted at Matt suspiciously, "How _did_ you find a family so quickly anyways, Matt? It usually takes months with records like mine, not to mention all the requirements you have listed on my case."

Matt's face shadowed over. "Harry, drop it. It was a lucky find."

"Oh- _oh, _you fudged my records, didn't you? That's the only way another family would take me so fast-"

"I said drop it, I did not change your records." He sounded not only frustrated, but defensive and Harry knew he was right. Heck, he wasn't even surprised, he was sure it had happened on more than one occasion. Matt glanced quickly around the small room again, eyeing Harry's tow bags as if they held the answer to the universe. "I'm gonna get you some new cloths tomorrow."

It an abrupt and obvious change of topic; they weren't going to discuss his papers further. It also happened to be a topic Harry didn't appreciate in the least. His back snapped straight and he bristled, "The cloth's I have are fine. I don't need anymore."

It was a sore topic to choose from. Harry didn't appreciate charity. Maybe, being an orphan with next to nothing he ought to value even the least bit of charity he was shown, but he couldn't find it in him to squash down the sickening shame that swelled in his stomach whenever it was offered.

Matt told him it was his inflated pride that stopped him. He'd even been to a bloody psychiatrist that had said much the same, telling himin small, slow, and carefully chosen words what he felt- that his pride was all he had left, and he refused charity because he felt it would giving up the last thing he felt he had. A small, usually well ignored part of his brain gleefully stored this diagnosis away, throwing it up against his thoughts whenever it had the chance, but Harry refused to acknowledge it. It was a shoddy label at best out of a 'Mental Illness' book. He was simply independent and just didn't want to live off of someone else.

Harry stood sharply, avoiding Matt's gaze. "I think I left something in the car." And before either Pryce could say anything, he had moved past them, out of the hallway, and onto the street.

The sun was still bright, out and shinning and Harry paused briefly on the grass in front of the apartment building to just soak it in. Car horns beeped all along the busy road just in front of him, men spouting profanities at each other, but Harry ignored them. It was easy enough.

One sound, though, caught his ear. It was of a great, heaving cough- the kind that rattled the lungs and burned the throat. Across the street in front of a small, run down little flat, was an old man. He was squat, bald with a round face. Currently, he was hunched on the driver's side of his car, breathing heavily in the heat.

The cough had first drawn his attention, but now Death held it and Harry froze in the footsteps he hadn't even realized he was taking towards the old man. It hadn't been the first time he had seen Death hanging over the shoulder of someone he didn't have any connection with, but it didn't happen often and every time it did it had been looming over people much like the man it was shadowing, those old and withered with age.

He really, _really _shouldn't, Harry knows. He never approached anyone he had seen with Death. It was painful enough to just look at them, knowing that in a few hours, maybe even less, they would be dead, wiped from the world. Harry normally ignored those marked with a stiff neck until the left.

But something about the old man pulled at him. Maybe it was his dead sympathy acting up. It was no wonder why Death was there at all though, the man looked a sickly grey, with a heavy stance and shaking hands. He was bound to die any time now.

But Harry wavered. _Still. _The man's head swiveled faster than harry would have guessed it to be able to, stopping pointedly in his direction and with a heavy blush, Harry realized he had been staring blatantly, and probably with a bit of an odd sort of sorry nostalgic look too if he as lucky.

But the old man didn't seem to be offended. Instead, he smiled and cheerily waved to Harry. It was kind of a twisted stark contrast to the looming entity standing just behind the man, who was so happily smiling. But it also brought Harry back to reality, and he frowned bitterly. That man was going to die in a few hours. That was a sobering fact if he'd ever heard one, Harry thought, turning away.

And he almost missed it. It was nothing more than a flash, a flicker at the edges of his vision that had him spinning back around so fast he almost got whiplash. He wasn't sure how, but he could see it, a flash in front of his vision- there but at the same time not. And he saw it happen, moments before it would.

A car, careening out of control and swerving violently to one side right in front of a small, ratty flat with an old man out front-

And a split second after the vision faded, Harry heard squealing tires.

The world seemed to slow, the people in the street, a business man and a young mother with her daughter besides the old man, didn't seem to react as fast as they should have. And that same car came shooting into view.

Harry didn't know how it happened. He swore he didn't- one minute he was staring, horrified at the old man and Death who had stretched his cloak out ominously as understanding crashed down onto him, and the next, he was beside the old man, shoving him don and to the side as death never even nicked them, spiraling right by.

It happened in the blink of an eye, in that split second between breaths. Now Harry lay dazed into silence next to the groaning old man on the pavement.

He had saved the old man. He had stopped Death from stealing his next victim. It had never happened before- he had never _tried _to prevent it from happening before. It just did, and he accepted it. People died and he saw it and there was nothing he could do about it.

_But he had! _He had just saved a life. Jubilation rose up rapidly in his chest- _he had saved someone from Death!- _and he turned to check the old man next to him, who was by now blearily blinking up from glazed eyes, clearly not aware of the fact he had just been saved from Death by a preteen with

"Hey, sir, are you alri-"

But as the words left his mouth, a piercing scream split the air, slicing through it with sharp chills. "NO! MARIANNA!"

Harry's blood ran cold. He looked back- he hadn't even followed the path the veering car had taken- to see the young mother, scratched and bleeding, kneeling on the ground, weeping with a small bundle cradled in her arms. She rocked back and forth, a wail tearing itself from her throat as tears streamed down.

Death stood silently above them.

The scene was tormenting and Harry could only watch, horrified as Death bent over, reaching one spindled hand into the small child's chest.

"MARIANNA!"

The hand retreated, a small white light gripped firmly in its grasp. Harry wanted to move, so desperately wanted to reach out and protect that small light from such a dark creature, but couldn't move. _Nothing is working- MOVE! _

Death bored down into Harry's eyes the next moment, suddenly above him like a black shadow sprung from the ground. Behind it, Harry could still hear the mother weeping, crying her little girl's name over and over again, begging her to move, to wake up, to do anything at all.

But Marianna was dead. And Harry knew why.

Death left him shivering violently in the summer's heat. Horror and disgust swirled in his stomach, and Harry could swear he was going to be sick. There was a reason he had never tried to follow those marked by Death, to save them in their inevitable moment of terror. He might not have known why exactly at the time, it was always more of a subconsious revulsion, but the thought always felt so dreadfully wrong, an unforgivable crime against some obscure law.

And now Harry knew that is exactly what it was. A crime. By saving an old man already dying from an early grave, he had condemned an innocent girl to death. He had killed that woman's daughter.

If Matt had ever convinced him he any of those deaths were not his fault, that flicker of hope was gone now.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, so this was a long time coming and I'm not sure I'm too rpoud of it. Actually, I think its absolutely atrocious, but hey, I had to get it out there to get the story moving. Sorry If it seems like Death is absolutely everywhere in the beginning but I really want to give you guys a basis of how Harry sees Death, because I assure you it will affect how he makes some of his decisions, especially when the Grim, haha like Harry's gonna believe that, comes up in third year.

Also guys, I've started working on some of my previous stories, don't worry, and also on another new story( sorry please don't kill me!) that's a crossover between HP and The Avenger, because Avengers is the greatest movie (second to Harry Potter of cours) of all time. So if any one of you feels like you could make witty come backs worthy of Tony Stark especially well, please contact me! I also recomend that you read the fanfic** 'I See The Moon' by hctiB-notsoB**. Its one of my favorite stories ever!


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